Marry the Courtesan
by Drucilla
Summary: The courtship of Merovingian and Persephone (rough draft) complete


He wanted her from the moment he saw her.  
  
"Grazie." Her voice carried over to him, melodious, subtle. Everything about her flowed like a fine wine down his throat. The curves of her hair, the curve of her breast, the sheath of her satin gown against her body. The way she moved through a room was pure grace. Her laughter was impeccably timed, and she always seemed to know when to leave a conversation and drift elsewhere. She had wit enough to make others laugh and sense enough to keep her commentary inoffensive. Beauty and intelligence, in heaping measures of both.  
  
The Merovingian realized he hadn't been paying attention to the nattering sycophant next to him, and made some sort of appropriate comment. Right now the last thing he wanted was to...  
  
Damn. Lost her in the crowd. He scanned the room, with little luck. Hopefully she hadn't left, and he could dispatch one of his messengers, human-seeming or otherwise, to bring her in...  
  
"Was there something you wanted?"  
  
He turned slowly so as not to betray that he was startled. She was standing so close to him that he could smell her perfume and, underneath, the scent of her own body. He indulged himself in a brief fantasy of what she would taste like under her lipstick, under the perfume.   
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
She smiled. It was a smile that both chided him for pretending not to know what she was talking about and invited him in on a little secret assignation, a clandestine affair. "You were staring. I saw you, don't pretend."  
  
"All right, I was staring." He smiled, indulgent, careful. "I think you know why."  
  
"Of course." She smiled and nodded gracefully at the server who appeared and offered her a glass of champagne, then disappeared just as easily with empty tray in hand. "I have made myself a creature to be noticed, it was only inevitable that someone would notice me soon."  
  
He looked past her. A number of her previous admirers were directing amusingly hostile looks at him. "I would say that someone had already noticed you. Several someones, in fact."  
  
She chuckled softly. "They are entertaining, but ultimately of no consequence. I was looking for something else in a man."   
  
He blinked his eyes a little wider. Her very direct stare seemed to indicate that she had found it, in him. "Oh?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He found himself wanting to ask her what qualities she was looking for, what features she had found appealing in him. He quashed the feeling with a faint tinge of curiosity. "Well, was there something particular you wanted to talk about?"  
  
She snatched a confectionery off of a passing tray with deftness and ease. "Nothing in particular. Just to talk." One hand rested against the table; she leaned back over her shoulder to talk to him in a position that would have been precarious for anyone else, and looked perfectly natural on her.  
  
"All right..."   
  
Talk lasted until very near to dawn. The usually jaded Merovingian was startled to notice how much time seemed to have passed in her presence without him noticing. They sat at the long table at the front of the room until the last customer, the last visitor, the last sycophant and the last bodyguard had gone. She was laughing, a little tipsy, and dangling the champagne flute from her fingertips when the sun rose. It caught the light and reflected it into his eyes, blinding him.   
  
"... so late it might as well be early."  
  
He was staring again. The Merovingian shook himself, smiled. "Indeed it is..." he said, but his mind was nowhere near the words springing automatically from his lips.   
  
"Should I leave you to rest?" she smiled back, taking any appreciable sting from her words. He chuckled. Even if he had been human, he doubted he would have been tired.  
  
"Cherie, after all this time in your company, I feel fresh, revived, and inspired..." Had he really just said that? Dear God, he was losing... something.   
  
She laughed anyway, most likely out of politeness. "Still, I should probably go... if for no other reason than my family will be wondering where I am." She had mentioned being on holiday before.   
  
He caught her arm before she could move completely from the table, before even he had realized what he was going to do. "No... stay. Please."  
  
He managed, finally, to catch and hold her eyes. They were deep, dark, and full of emotion. He blinked. They stared at each other. Then the excuses began.  
  
"I shouldn't really drive in this condition anyway..."  
  
"The wine was particularly strong..."  
  
"My family will have expected me to stay over with a friend..."  
  
"There are a number of guest rooms in the building..."  
  
She had climbed up his body like a vine, pulled by his hands, but most definitely under her own power as well. He could feel the warmth of her body through the silk of his slacks... it felt like his own body was on fire. She was practically weightless, or at least it seemed so, and her breath tasted of strawberries and wine. Strands of her hair brushed past his face, soft as silk. Her words were the barest of breaths on his cheek.   
  
"I won't be staying in a guest room."  
  
His grip tightened, his hands slid around her waist. "No..." he said, voice husky as his lips brushed over hers. "Of course you won't."  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
She was gone when he woke later in the day, having somehow managed to slip out without disturbing him. He rolled over, meaning to touch her shoulder to see if she was awake, and his hand met only cold satin. She had been gone for some time.   
  
The Merovingian sat up, no need to rub his eyes or yawn or make any effort to wake himself up. Being an AI had some distinct advantages, one of them being able to select which human functions he would use and which he would discard.  
  
The current advantage to that was that there was no need to shower, shave, change, or perform any such morning ablutions. He dressed himself slowly, trying to determine to himself exactly what last night meant. He had no idea what had happened, what had caused him to behave as he had. He had no idea except that he had been trapped from the moment she had caught his eye from across the room. But was it the sort of trap he would want to escape from or wriggle deeper into? What was she planning... what should he plan for her?   
  
And, in the end, did it really matter? All he wanted was to see her again. To hear that melodious voice lifted in song. She had sung for him once, last night, towards the end of the evening. It had been enough to bring tears to his metaphorical eyes.   
  
Dammit! Now was not the time... especially now... now was not the time to turn into some sort of lovesick school boy. He had a business to run and, among other things, a service to provide. That damnable woman would be sending her puppy his way, and he would have to provide the appropriate obstruction.  
  
He was so tired of it all.  
  
And it was only the second cycle.  
  
The Merovingian paused a moment at the door before straightening cuffs and collar in a more habitual mannerism than anything.   
  
"Sir..." an obsequious functionary walked up to him, and the day began.  
  
It only got worse from there. Somehow the tasks that were tedious even on a good day had become excruciatingly boring. Little details that had been dull before were suddenly unbearable. Every minute on the clock ticked by as audible as a gunshot, where before he had thought the timepieces entirely silent. He barely touched any lunch, and paced to the dining hall at the end of the day with his bootheels clicking almost angrily on the floor.   
  
"Something the matter?" one of the Twins... he could never tell them apart... asked in that infuriatingly superior tone. They always spoke in voices that somehow seemed to convey the impression that they knew more than the other person, were better at it, and were going to use it to screw the other person over. The Merovingian had always hated the habit, but had never had the time to break them of it. Perhaps he would start now.  
  
Perhaps not. Too much time. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with," he said dismissively, seating himself at the table with a slight shake. Time to start the game up again for the night.  
  
He scanned the room for her, straining to see if she was there for the first fifteen minutes. Then he realized what he was doing and stopped, admonishing himself to stop pining for some strange human woman. (But she wasn't human, was she?) There were women aplenty in his restaurant, hotel, whatever else he wanted it to be. There always were. If not for the food, or the company, or the elite and powerful atmosphere of the place, then for the experience he provided them that was beyond any a human could give them. Women talked, he knew that much. And sometimes they told their friends, and then their friends would visit. And if the friends were to his liking he would visit them, and then they would tell their friends, and so on. And so forth. And so it went.  
  
"Sabatier..." he summoned forth one of his few guards with more than a minimum rate processor. "How does it look for tonight?"  
  
Sabatier invariably knew what the Merovingian was talking about; it was his job to anticipate his ostensible employer. "Quite well, Monsieur. Four have already arrived of the highest quality, with several more prospects in place should you require. The evening is progressing gently and calmly, there seem to be no untoward disturbances."  
  
The would-be monarch nodded, satisfied. "See that the preparations are in place for that damned woman's whelp... he is due to arrive within the fortnight, and we all have our little parts to play."   
  
"Monsieur." The functionary nodded and departed. His master sighed. If the whole cycle was going to be this damnably boring... not to mention irritating... perhaps he should ask for a bigger part. A greater hand in molding the anomaly might prove more interesting. At the very least, maybe he could sculpt some variety into the creature.   
  
"Andiyamo."   
  
The voice caught his ear, and he looked around more sharply than was perhaps wise or warranted. Was that her? He caught a glimpse of dark hare and a neatly curved shoulder as he went past, but no more. Damn.  
  
"Sabatier..."   
  
The man appeared at the Merovingian's side almost as if he had been conjured there. "Monsieur."  
  
"That woman who was with me last night... is she in the fleet?"  
  
The functionary stood and scanned the crowd more quickly and efficiently than the Merovingian was able to do, and still maintain poise and aloofness. "She is. She appears to be talking to an older Asian gentleman of some importance... the head of a company, I believe. Shall I have her sent over?"  
  
He took a deep breath that somehow seemed to be more forced than usual. It wouldn't do to appear too eager, too anticipatory. She might come to think that she had the power. "No... not yet. Just... watch her, for the present. That is all."  
  
Sabatier disappeared again. The Merovingian sat down to wait. Now it was a contest of ... what did the humans call it... a game of chicken. He vowed that he would not be the one to flinch first.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
Three weeks later, either one of them had yet to flinch. He watched her with growing discontent and anger as she maneuvered her way neatly through the crowd, making the acquaintance of one older gentleman after another, deftly managing them as neatly as he might manage his own flock of women. She would go home with one, or the other; she seemed to have a stable of about five favorites, although he had sometimes seen her leave in the company of as many as seven. He hadn't had her followed yet, so he didn't know which of them she was truly with.   
  
It was altogether intolerable.  
  
At the end of the first month he declined to go down to dinner, preferring to have a temper tantrum in his room instead. Not even his guards would venture near him at this point; the only one who moved in or out of his rooms was Sabatier, who ducked thrown crystal and paperweights with the same bland expression. At least, the Merovingian comforted himself, he could rely on the fact that the man wouldn't tell a soul what was going on in their monarch's quarters. The program was created to be a servant, not a gossip.  
  
He didn't realize until she glided into the room that the program was also developing a streak of independence. It was certainly anticipating his master's needs in a more radical way than ever before. The Merovingian stared at the woman with sullen awe, speechless for the first time in his existence.   
  
"Aren't you coming down to dinner?" Her voice held a tinge of amusement, more than a hint of arch laughter. She was laughing at him! He should berate her, reduce her to a quivering wreck. He didn't want to.  
  
"It is my home, my place to decide where and when I shall take my meals." Despite the high and mighty language it came out sulky even to him. He winced inwardly. Surely that hadn't been what he had meant.  
  
"Of course." She was still laughing at him.  
  
"What business is it of yours?" he was losing ground in this argument faster than he had anticipated, and he didn't understand why. Who was this woman that she was able to do such things to him?   
  
"No concern of mine at all, but the rest of your hangers-on will be wondering where you are. They will be entirely lost without you at the head table, looking down on them like a hawk at the field mice. You had best get yourself prepared and take your place." She looked him up and down critically. "Perhaps you had better change, as well."  
  
He gaped at her openly. "Woman, what right have you to come into my home and address me as though I were your naughty child?"  
  
"When you stop behaving like a naughty child I will stop treating you like one." Any other woman would have propped her hands on her hips, leaned forward to give her the impression of authority. This one leaned back and crossed her arms low over her chest, conveying the impression of amusement.  
  
"I am not..." he took a deep breath. He wasn't going to win anything this way. "Wait outside."   
  
"Of course." She turned and walked out before he could turn his back on her first. The opportunity lost, he gave Sabatier a distinctly displeased glance and sulked into his bedroom closet to decide what to wear.  
  
Which, of course, brought him invariably in mind of the woman. Damn her, anyway. He knew he would select tonight's outfit for her, whether he wanted to or not. It was as though she had hypnotized him in some way, like some succubus from human legend. It was downright demonic.   
  
At least, he thought then, he could choose which angle of attack to take. If he couldn't stop thinking of her, he could at least try to mitigate the circumstances somewhat. He had lost the game, he had flinched first... and yet in a way she had flinched first, too, by coming to speak to him. So, then, would tonight be for seduction or for titillation?   
  
He selected a regiment of dark clothing; dark clothing made him look sinister, the dangerous man no one wanted to cross and everyone wanted to sleep with. If the boy came along it wouldn't hurt to look a little ominous anyway. With any luck this would put him up in the class of menacing and not to be trifled with rather than the class of man who could be bullied by a woman. Yes... he straightened his tie in the mirror and smiled, just a little, to his reflection. Tonight he would retake his place in her mind as a mysterious, powerful monarch of his own high-tech kingdom. Tomorrow evening he might begin a campaign more stimulating than anything the damn Architect had launched.  
  
It was going to be a good evening.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
The boy showed up, right on schedule. Everything happened exactly as it was supposed to: the boy demanded his key, the Merovingian resisted, and Sabatier sneaked around behind his back to give it to the stupid little child whom the Architect had deemed this cycle's Chosen One. The jaded French-styled program yawned his way through the whole operation, bored almost to tears.  
  
At least he had his new woman.  
  
The boy had made his appearance late in the evening, by which time she was already ensconced at the head table and pertly daring the Merovingian to hand-feed her from a bowl of strawberries without her biting his fingers off. Amused at her pert commentary, he had indulged her. It painted a wonderful picture for the idiot Chosen One, whose eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets at the sight. Perhaps he thought it was the very height of decadence. The Merovingian had studied moments in human history, pieces of human literature that would have made the boy redefine the term a hundred time worse. But it didn't matter.  
  
His duties discharged, he rested for the last part of the evening. The one relief to his otherwise onerous duties was that it only came around once in a century. First the Chosen One, then the reboot, and then he could relax for approximately ninety years.   
  
"Is he always that childlike?" The woman asked when the young man had left. The Merovingian had explained it to her as a sort of obscure test as part of some religious order; even he didn't remember the exact words he had used. But he didn't need her asking any questions until he had determined what he was going to do with her. Other than the obvious, of course. He wondered if the next time would be as good as the first.   
  
The Merovingian yanked his attention back to her, and the present, which was not a very difficult feat. "Usually. The one in charge of it all seems to prefer to keep it all happening very quickly for him, most likely so that he doesn't understand what is actually going on until he must. It's a reasonable precaution, but it does mean that he becomes very tiresome very quickly."  
  
"Hmmph," she made a non-committal noise. "At least he was rather handsome."  
  
Jealousy flared and was quashed just as suddenly. There was, after all, no reason for it. He could have her any time he wanted to. Never mind the little doubt niggling at him like a fish on a hook. Like the feeling that he was the fish, and she had hooked him...  
  
Never mind.  
  
"I suppose, as one reckons young American men." He dismissed the Chosen One with a wave of his hand. "I have never had a taste for them, myself."  
  
The woman chuckled. "Men are all alike in some very basic ways. It is only the packaging that is different."   
  
He frowned at her knowing air and superior, secret smile. He didn't like that tone of voice. "Bellissima, you would put me into the same category, the same box as that young boy?"  
  
She chuckled, low and sweet, and the sound played over his nerves like delicate fire. "In some things men... all men... are alike. This does not change, has not changed for centuries." She picked up her wine glass, balancing it with a careful and yet carefree gesture, and sipped delicately. "However, this does not mean I consider that you and the young man who was here just now to be comparable."  
  
The Merovingian worked that through in his mind and tried to determine whether it was a compliment shaded to sound like an insult or an insult carefully stated to sound like a compliment. He couldn't make up his mind. "Mmm."  
  
As if to apologize, the woman delicately peeled the leaves away from one of the remaining strawberries, dipped it in his expensive and imported cream, and held it out to him. Yet another step of the oldest dance was played out, rolling his lips over her fingertips and her hand caressing his cheek. He had always thought that everything, even the most basic of functions, should be distilled to an art form and if it could not be, it should be done away with. By the look on her face and the movement of her hand, she seemed to agree.  
  
"Are the rest of your subjects as tiresome?" she asked when the brief flare of passion had subsided.  
  
"My subjects?" he chuckled. "No. I keep nothing around that does not amuse me. Those who are dull stay no longer than an evening or two." He had decided long before that it would not be prudent to tell her of his women and his exploits. He expected her to ask whether or not he found her entertaining. At the least, he expected her to ask what sort of things he found entertaining. She did none of those things.  
  
Instead she surveyed the crowd in front of them, moving from her chair by his side to perch on the edge of the table, half facing him. "And do all of your guards, your servants... do they entertain you as well?"  
  
He chuckled. "They perform their functions, which is not to entertain. That being said, do you not find them ... picturesque?" He gestured over at the sides of the room, decorated in human shapes of alabaster and ebony. He watched her eyes scan over the various sets and teams of bodyguards, all clad in the standard uniform of enforcement officers, suits. There were sixteen in all. He watched expressions pass over her face, recognizing few of them. The woman was clearly affected, though, and that was what mattered.   
  
"Monochrome," she said flatly, and he frowned.  
  
"You do not approve?"  
  
She turned away sharply, sipped at her glass. It was the first ungraceful movement he had seen out of her since he had met her. "It is not my place to approve or disapprove."  
  
He caught her arm, intrigued. Words spilled out. "And if I were to make it your place?"  
  
She froze in the act of bringing the wine to her lips and glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"  
  
Damn good question. Inwardly he frowned, trying to parse the sentence in some sort of way that made more sense to him. He didn't like what it seemed to imply. "Since you seem to wish to redesign my staff, how would you change it?"  
  
Her lips curved upwards, but it wasn't quite a smile. "Well... for a start, I would put a little bit of color into my bodyguards. They look like the top of a wedding cake, and while that may be picturesque it is hardly original." Her eyes scanned the men again. "Perhaps a few would be useful. Those three, for instance. Him. And them." She pointed out six men... six men out of sixteen. That would cut into his staff considerably.  
  
Dear God in Heaven. What was the woman doing to him.  
  
"And then?"  
  
She turned. Her slim, delicately curved body was suddenly filling his field of vision, from the hourglass hips to her dark and deadly eyes. His breath stopped in his chest, literally. She reached forward and stroked her fingertips down the line of his jaw, causing his breath to jump-start almost instantly in a hiccup of gasped-in air. "Oh..." she practically purred, "I can imagine some changes I would make. Eventually."  
  
Streams of haze colored his vision in burgundy and jet. It was a strange feeling, not quite arousal and not quite l'amour, but somewhere in between. He made his excuses and followed her out, not once stopping to think of how completely wrong this must have been.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
She was gone when he awoke. Again. It was starting to get tiresome, but he couldn't object. He didn't have the strength. The previous night... all the previous nights... it had all been somehow beyond his comprehension. Which should have been impossible, because he wasn't human, he was machine. But...  
  
He pushed himself up to a sitting position, squinted at the light streaming through the windows. Her scent was still in the air, all over his sheets, clinging to him in a persistent reminder that he didn't have her, not yet. Not in any way that counted or could make her stay. It was so damnably infuriating... and yet tantalizing as well. No one had challenged him like this since he had gone rogue, gone into exile. It was as though she could anticipate his every mood, gesture, and word. It was as though she knew exactly what he wanted at any given moment and was prepared to give it to him, almost unconditionally. And all she required in return was his absolute servitude. It just didn't make any sense.  
  
And he still didn't know her damn name.  
  
He stood up, moved to the windows, threw wide the curtains. The sun was already high in the sky; he had spent a late night. Most of his nights had been long in recent days, if not because of the presence of the woman then because of her absence. It was intolerable, being with her, being without her, the way she could control his every movement and thought. He had never been controlled like this before, not even when he was being a good little program, doing what he was supposed to do. And yet...  
  
Did he even mind? He had been so furious when he had first realized what she had done, the first morning he had awoken and she hadn't been there. These days the fury was less. These days it wasn't even fury anymore, it was... regret? Disappointment? Or some other alien feeling for which he had no basis for definition or comparison? For all that he was a master at manipulating other people's emotions, he was startled to find that he did not recognize them in his own self. Was that what was supposed to happen?  
  
He was so confused. If there was one thing he hated above all else, it was being confused. His hands clenched into fists on the curtains he was still holding, and he barely remembered in time to let them go. He smoothed his palms on the legs of his silk nightclothes. Composure. He had to maintain his composure.  
  
Sabatier knocked diffidently and entered when he did not hear his master object. It was a subtle reminder that he had duties to perform. The Merovingian sighed irritably, prying thoughts of that woman loose from the back of his mind. Today's dress could be a little more casual, or a little more...   
  
He pulled the blue silk jacket over his shoulders, settling it into place with a shake. Perhaps today would be different. Perhaps today he might even learn his name. "Is there anything of importance today?" he asked. Even his voice sounded more cheery than it had in a long time.   
  
"Nothing of importance," Sabatier said, with the accent on the word 'importance' that indicated the sentence was to be continued.  
  
"But...?"  
  
"The Doppelgangers are restless." A hint of emotion wavered through the program's usually emotionless voice. Not that it was unreasonable. The Twins were known to pick on his bodyguards, his servants, and his patrons when they became bored. It was their one drawback, that he had to keep them amused. He supposed it was worth it to keep them in practice, though. They were, bar none, the best at what they did.  
  
He frowned. Perhaps he would have some sort of diversion for them. "Ask them to follow the young woman if she appears again tonight. See where she lives, who she is." The Merovingian's eyes brightened considerably at the thought of finally discovering the identity of his mystery lover. "They are not to hurt her, or frighten her... preferably not to make their presence known. At least, not to her." If he didn't give them some room to play they would be insufferable for weeks.  
  
"Yes, Monsieur." Sabatier bowed, waiting for the Merovingian. A few last strokes of the comb, one last glance in the mirror, and he was ready to go.   
  
He was even whistling a little tune as he descended to his court in miniature, anticipating an exciting evening..  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
She arrived around nine o'clock, drawing his attention instantly as she paused in the doorway during a lull in the conversation. A majority of the male patrons turned to stare at her, drawing the glares of their women. The Merovingian smirked and saluted her with his wine glass. Everything according to their new routine, and as usual the world narrowed to just the two of them. She made her way through the room over the course of the next hour, ending up at the head table as always.   
  
The prospect of actually finding out who she was and what she was doing to him had put him in such a good mood that he was smiling more often than not in the hour between her arrival at the restaurant and her arrival at his table. Even the sight of her maneuvering through the crowd, playing the social games that were required of her before she took her proper place by his side... even watching those trivialities was a pleasure. Her mere presence had taken the weight off of the too-many decades of jaded, stale indulgence.   
  
He stood, his bodyguards stood with him, he inclined his head politely and she made the return gesture somehow convey the impression of a sweeping curtsey. He pulled her chair back soundlessly and she took her seat with customary grace.   
  
"You seem in a fine mood this evening." She was calmer, less restive than she had been. Among other things, she didn't perch herself on the table.  
  
"Things have been going very well for me today," he smiled expansively, explaining without telling her a thing.   
  
"Excellent." She smiled as easily as if she'd known exactly what he was talking about. For that matter, perhaps she did...  
  
How much did she know?  
  
"How much do you know of what it is that I do here?"  
  
She looked over at him measuringly. "I know that you are a dealer in information. I know that you are something of a dilettante as well. You connect people to other people, and people to places, and other such things. You hoard information like a child hoards baseball cards, making your own little tower out of each piece and building up an empire. All of this..." she gestured around at the restaurant. "Is your court. The bodyguards are your knights and you, of course, are king."  
  
His eyes narrowed. "Perceptive."  
  
She smirked. "You have no idea."  
  
He didn't like the sound of that. All the more imperative that the Twins should follow her to whatever sort of place it was that she called home. How much did she know? How much could she find out? He didn't notice he was frowning until her fingertips brushed over his lips.  
  
"Don't scowl so. To be honest, it wasn't that hard to figure out." She shrugged a little, as though she was self-conscious. Not that there was anything for her to be self-conscious about... women. They were all strange creatures.   
  
"Ah. Well, I shall endeavor to create more of an air of mystery. It wouldn't do to be too easy for you to figure out." It was his turn to smirk. She lowered her gaze in a gesture of appropriate modesty, turning her eyes up at the last minute to catch his gaze and hold it. Another staring contest, shivers down his spine. She broke first this time, thankfully.   
  
"And what about you, bellissima?" he smirked, having had the satisfaction of some sort of victory over her. "What is it that you do?"  
  
She actually looked embarrassed. "Actually... I ... well. I am sort of an actress."  
  
Oh-ho... "Sort of an actress?"  
  
"Trying to be..." her voice was soft, her eyes downcast. "I haven't yet managed to make anything of it."  
  
Regret and sympathy poured through him, over him, confusing him even more. He laid his hand over hers and clasped it gently. "We'll have to see what we can do about that."  
  
She looked away again. "I couldn't ask that of you."  
  
"As you have said, information is my business, n'est_ce pas? I will see what I can do to smooth the road for you."  
  
She smiled. It was a real smile this time, and he hadn't noticed the difference until just that moment. It reached her eyes, lit them up like stars. She radiated, briefly, a quiet happiness he had never seen in her until now, and invoked an even stranger reaction than all of his previous feelings. It felt warm, comforting, enveloping him and settling under his skin and into his chest, almost as though it was completely rewriting his programming. And then she moved, and it was gone.   
  
"Well, what do you make of my little enterprise?" he asked finally, not sure whether to try and recapture the moment or just let it go as an aberration.   
  
"Stylish." She chuckled, looking around. It struck him yet again how easily she had made the transfer from subject to queen, effectively. "Courtly almost to the point of being antiquated, but I like the refreshing change in manners. The décor is a bit monochrome..." she glanced over at him, amused at his sour expression. "But I'm sure that can be fixed with time."  
  
He shook his head, making a sort of mock-growling noise. "Already you are trying to manage me, woman... what is next?"  
  
She didn't say anything, which he found almost more disturbing than if she had said something appropriate and womanly enigmatic.   
  
"Well, I will see what I can do about putting some color into this place... for your sake, bellissima." He managed a good semblance of a bow from a seated position.   
  
As he straightened he caught the eyes of the Twins and held their mirror-shaded glance for just a few seconds. Just long enough to signal them to be alert in case she decided to leave early. After the last few moments of conversation he wasn't sure what would happen, and he wanted to prepared for just about anything. The trouble was... he wasn't sure whether or not his preparations would do any good.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
The dark-haired woman walked through the streets of the city with total impunity, despite the fact that dawn was starting to slink over the horizon. The few predators who might have bothered her had all been conspicuously silent ever since she had plugged the first two directly in the forehead without so much as blinking. It was one thing to get shot up in the usual course of gang wars, drug deals, turf fights, and battles of ego. It was quite another thing to be shot in the forehead by a young woman who shouldn't have been in that area of town in the first place who didn't flinch, didn't blink, and turned and kept walking when it was all over. She had scared them more than anything in the streets they had seen. So now she traveled the streets unmolested.   
  
Not that it really mattered very much. She knew that nothing in the streets could touch her, which caused her to behave with a terrifying sort of blasé-ness. Her high heels clacked swiftly along the pavement, and stopped. Nothing in the street, that is, until today. Someone was following her.  
  
"You may as well come out," she said, sighing as she waited in the middle of the sidewalk. "I know you're there, and I know where you are."  
  
Like moonlit shadows, the Twins materialized, one to either side of her. "How did you know where we were?"  
  
"We were silent and invisible."  
  
She snorted. "Please. You two enjoy your posturing and your fearsome masks far too much to truly hide yourselves from someone who knows you. Your master had you follow me. Why?"  
  
They looked at each other, suddenly alert and wary. If they told her what they were about they could be in for more trouble than they wanted when word got back to the Merovingian (as it somehow always did). On the other hand, they were starting to get the distinct impression that if they didn't tell this woman, that she could cause just as much trouble for them in some way or another. And they had much less of an idea of her capabilities.  
  
They sighed in mirror image, in stereo. "The Merovingian wanted to know who you were and what you wanted."  
  
"He felt that you have been... less than forthcoming with your information."  
  
Was it her imagination or was the second one more diffident than the first? It didn't matter. "That's none of his business," she said smartly, "Not yet, anyway."  
  
Identical frowns on identical faces. "What do you mean, none of his business?"  
  
"It doesn't concern him, and he needn't worry himself over it. When it is time for him to know, he will know. Now, if he must know where I am going, I am off to see the Oracle. Run along and tell him."  
  
The Twins stared at her, suddenly ten times more nervous than they had been before. The Oracle was big business, which mean that whatever she wanted with the Merovingian was also big business. They had been making it a point to stay out of the ponds of the bigger fish in the Matrix, which was the main reason why they were staying under the auspices of the effete Frenchman. If this woman was involved with the Oracle...  
  
They nodded slowly, together; one inclined his head up, the other inclined down. "We'll tell him."  
  
"But we don't want anything more to do with it."  
  
The woman snorted, derisive, but at the moment they didn't care. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll manage to keep you out of it somehow. Run along, now." She made a dismissive gesture, and they phased and vanished.   
  
Her shoulders slumped a little in defeat. That had been more difficult than she had imagined. All she had been able to think about ... their straight razors delicately concealed beneath white coats. Their smiles. She most definitely didn't like them. They would be the first things to go, when...  
  
She lifted her head again and kept going along her chosen route. With her goal firmly in mind, some of the tension brought up by the Twins' appearance eased. She could do this. She would. It was, after all, what she had been groomed, made, and destined for.  
  
The apartment building was nearly deserted. She made it up to the proper floor and room without incident, hesitating for a split second before knocking on the door. The young woman answered, smiled, and led her into the kitchen.  
  
The Oracle was baking cookies. Again. Her visitor smiled and put on a pair of oven mitts. "Isn't it a little bit late for baking?"  
  
"Oh, it's never too late for baking. Besides, some of the orphans always wake up in the middle of the night and want cookies." She sat down while the younger woman checked the oven. "What can I do for you?"  
  
The young woman closed the oven again and sat down, taking a deep breath. Now that she was here everything seemed so trivial. "I... have a doubt."  
  
"About what?" The Oracle asked gently. She never pushed; it was one of the things everyone liked most about her.  
  
"Everything... the whole... enterprise. I... am worried."  
  
"That it won't work out?"  
  
"No... yes. I don't know." Deep breath. "I am afraid of what will happen if it does work out."  
  
"What do you think will happen?"  
  
"I..." she frowned. "I don't know. It's... he does nothing to make me afraid, nothing violent or dangerous. He is kind, courteous. Handsome." A little smile turned up the corners of her mouth, unbeknownst to her. The Oracle hid a grin. "He has exquisite manners and taste. He is an excellent lover."  
  
The Oracle arched an eyebrow, and the young woman blushed.   
  
"Well, it sounds as though you two have something really special."  
  
"We do... I'd like to think we do. But..."  
  
"But... you're not sure you want to go through with the whole plan." The Oracle stood up, pulling the first tray of cookies out from the oven and setting them out to cool even as the young woman moved to help her. "No, that's okay, I've got it."  
  
"It's just that ... everything is so important, so intense. And I want to know that I'm doing the right thing."  
  
The Oracle checked the second tray of cookies, slid them gently into the microwave, and sat down. The young woman was staring at the table, looking a little ashamed, a little terrified. She looked up as the Oracle patted her hand.  
  
"You don't have to do it if you don't want to, you know. These things aren't decided the way they decide the fate of their countries. There aren't any alliances we need to make. The purpose of a queen is to match the king; she has to be as smart as he is, as beautiful as he is, and as clever as he is. You were our first choice... but if you don't want to do it, that's fine."  
  
Persephone stared at the Oracle, eyes wide, lips parted in an expression of startlement. All she could do was shake her head, uncertain.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
"The Oracle?"  
  
The Merovingian paced up and down in his bedchamber, furious. He couldn't remember when he had been so furious, if he ever had. Had he? He felt angry. He felt furious, irrationally annoyed. He felt betrayed, and he didn't know why.  
  
"That's what she said."  
  
"Dammit!" A decanter exploded against the opposite wall so ferociously that even Sabatier flinched. His master was literally shaking, hands clenched into near-fists and shoulders hunched over as though preparing for or expecting a blow. It took him a couple of minutes to realize how he looked, and several more to force himself to unclench his hands and relax his shoulders. The flinty stare was still in his eyes though. "Dammit, woman," he shook his head as he paced the bedchamber again. "You will be the end of me."  
  
"Monsieur... if I may make a suggestion."  
  
The Frenchman paused in midstep, deciding whether or not to murder his majordomo. He shrugged. "Go ahead."  
  
"There are dozens of other women in the restaurant even as I speak. Any of them would be willing, even eager to spend their time with Monsieur. Might it not be more ... agreeable... if you were to take up with one of them?"  
  
"I don't want dozens of other women, dammit! I want that one!"  
  
Sabatier wisely refrained from comment.  
  
"She appears, she is dazzling, conversational, beautiful... she stays the night and then she is gone again, pouf! Like Cinderella. She leaves me nothing to hold onto. Nothing! Not even her name!"  
  
"Would Monsieur like me to find out her name..."  
  
"I don't want you to find out her name, Sabatier, I want her to tell me! I want her to give it to me freely, of her own will..."  
  
His words trailed off as he leaned his fists against the window frame and stared out at the sky that was just starting to see the dawn. For the first time in his entire existence he had no idea what to do. He'd never encountered this before, this longing, this need. He could picture every facet of her smile, her eyes, her hair, the way she moved and the way she spoke. He could hear her laughter in his ears, sweet and disingenuous. He could hear her remarks, wit that lanced every member of his entourage and somehow managed never to offend. He could remember the feel of her in his arms, soft and pliable and so very warm.   
  
He pounded his fist on the window frame. How could she have done this to him? What did that damn fortune teller know that he didn't? For that matter, why on earth was he so upset? The question was lost in a sea of conflicting emotions, all of them new and running rampant through his systems.   
  
"How do I make her like me, Sabatier?" He was speaking before he realized it. "How do I bring her to me? I do not know how to do anything other than what I have done before... and it has never failed so absolutely terribly before."  
  
The functionary didn't say anything. Functionaries rarely did.  
  
"I must have her," he whispered. Tears were actually beginning to form in his eyes... tears! He, who had never felt a strong emotion in his existence. "I must have her for my own..."  
  
"If I may suggest, sir..." The man-program was extremely hesitant... more so than usual. Then again, he had never suggested a course of action of this magnitude before, either. "There is a solution that has been devised a long time ago, an institution that is very well established, and very respectable."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"May I suggest... a marriage proposal?"  
  
The Merovingian turned, blinked, stared. "Marriage?" He pronounced the word as though it were entirely foreign to him. Which it might well have been. Fidelity and monogamy had never been his strong suit. "I? Married?"  
  
"It was only a thought." Sabatier backtracked hastily.   
  
"No..." the Merovingian paused. Thought about it. Apart from the implications it had politically and socially... once and for all forestalling those damnable invitations from those sickly old men looking to secure their empires with their daughters' bodies. Apart from that entirely... he turned the thought over in his mind.   
  
He would be bonded to her for the rest of their lives, or so the strictures went. In his case that could be a very long time. He was starting to imagine that it was the same for her, although he hadn't yet actually looked to have his suspicions confirmed. But.. what was the alternative? To lose her?  
  
Unacceptable.  
  
Dammit. He could figure this out later. The first step must be made; it was not, after all, irrevocable until the rings were on both fingers. He could make this work. He would.   
  
"I will return shortly..." he straightened himself up, tugging at his jacket nervously but with steadying resolve. "Have the kitchen prepare something special for tonight."  
  
"Did you have anything in mind, Monsieur?"   
  
The Merovingian smirked. "Something... very special."  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
-  
  
He was practically dancing from foot to foot until she arrived, much to the amusement of his entire fleet of bodyguards. He had had to dismiss the Twins to their amusements an hour earlier before they split their faces with smirking. After that he had fidgeted underneath the head table until he had nearly knocked a glass over with his knee. This damnable waiting was going to kill him.   
  
She entered later than she usually did, looking around more quickly, moving through the crowd without her usual lingering grace. He frowned, the expression deepening as she arrived at his table in half her usual time.  
  
"Bella..." he murmured against her ear as he assisted her to her seat. "Bellissima... is there something wrong?"   
  
"Nothing..." she looked up at him.   
  
For a second their eyes locked, startled and searching. Each of them seemed to be looking for something, almost desperately so. Neither of them moved a muscle as they scanned each other up down and sideways, looking. For reassurance, for security... they couldn't put a name to it. It occurred to each of them in turn that they might not recognize it even if they saw...   
  
... and then her gaze seemed to soften, and he seemed to melt around the edges. Suddenly the world had narrowed to just the two of them again. She smiled.   
  
Sabatier brought over the wine the Merovingian had had specially ordered, and two glasses he had had specially made. He watched her sip the wine with bated breath, with more anticipation than he had ever felt.   
  
Her eyes widened. "Is that..."  
  
"Yes..."  
  
She smiled. "And what is the occasion?"  
  
"Occasion?" Wide eyes, disingenuous. As though he could ever hope to be disingenuous, but he gave it his best effort.  
  
"What is the cause?"  
  
"Cause? There is no cause."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him, suspecting him of some mischief. Fortunately, though, she didn't press. Dinner arrived, conversation passed, and with each sip of the wine he had brought for her she glanced over at him as though suspecting him of some mischief. Each time he pretended not to know what was going on. The dessert was brought out. The restaurant was teeming with people by now, and even his table was full to capacity. A plethora of witnesses, just in case something should chance to go wrong. He watched her reaction carefully, trying to judge the right moment.  
  
"Oh! How beautiful..." he let out a tiny breath. She liked the sculpture, anyway. Sugar and ice and a deep red fruit syrup stain. "...oh..." her voice had grown very small. He watched her, nervous. She didn't say anything.  
  
The ring sparkled innocently, nestled in the palms of the confection that had been carefully shaped into an angel.  
  
"Cherie?"  
  
She was still staring at the ice sculpture, beautiful even when startled and speechless.  
  
"Bellissima...?"  
  
She looked up at him.   
  
"Now, may I know your name?"  
  
She found the words, or the words found her somehow. "My... my name?"  
  
"I should at least know the name of the woman I intend to marry, n'est_ce pas?" He made it through the carefully rehearsed first sentence without stammering or cracking. So far so good.  
  
Her eyes flickered from the ring to his face. He wasn't breathing. Thank all the powers that were that he didn't need to breathe. "Persephone..." she whispered. "My name is Persephone."  
  
Dieu et Marie, even her name was like the ripest fruit on his lips. "Persephone..." he whispered. He had to raise his voice above a whisper. "Persephone, ma chere... ma vie. Bella donna, will you marry me?"  
  
The entire room had fallen silent. Even so, if he had been human he would have missed her answer entirely.   
  
"Yes..." His fingers somehow fumbled the ring out of the dessert sculpture and onto her finger. God, he had never been this clumsy... but it was as though he were a balloon with all the air being slowly let out. "Oh yes..."   
  
He pulled her into his arms without thinking, kissed her as though it were the end of the world. All around them applause and cheers rose to the rafters. 


End file.
